A wonderful thing happened, I met a man, moving to Italy

 A letter found its way to me from one of my followers, as it often does since Ive been living in Italy since 2002........ it started......

A wonderful thing happened to me - i > fell in love with an Italian and he will fetch me to > go and live with him in Rome in October! > Everything has happened so suddenly and i must admit > i am still quite overwhelmed by it all, but have > realised that i better find out a bit more about the > country, its ways, etc. and this is where u come > into the picture, because Sue told me u know it > all. I have googled the country a bit, but i need > to know more about the nitty gritty aspects. > I would literally need to know everything, from > applying for a VISA (i believe it is a shengen visa) > to possible cultural aspects to look out for. In > this man's eyes nothing is a problem (language > barrier of note still exists, but should be better > once we communicate face to face - this is an > internet connection!) and as he said "if visa > problem we marry!" I know that a holiday visa would > limit me to a period whereby i would have to return > and re-apply and at my age (i'm 49 - by the time i > go i will be 50) a work permit would not be an > option, so i need to know if u are aware of any > other ways and means. > I am literally trying to obtain as much possible > information and am concerned that i might miss > important issues because of the excitement > involved! This is your proverbial "leap of faith", > so u can imagine. > Hope u can enlighten me. Shirley

 Dear Shirley, I don't know what to say to you without putting a big pin into your party balloon, other than a big "Be careful", that is Italian men are very romantic, I know. I can sense your excitement. But as a person who as advised many people on relocations and expat matters, I have to warn you it will be virtually impossible for you to get residence unless you're seriously rich, which I'm assuming you're not. Even EU citizens can go through years of hell to get a permesso. (Permission to stay) A shengen visa is simply something a person from a non-shengen country like yours needs to visit the European countries on holiday. If you want my unfiltered advice, and I take it you do, as you wrote to me, I'll say this; without a job you can't even apply for the permesso. If there was a definite intention to marry, which he will have to prove with the authorites and sign guarantees on your behalf, you could enter Italy again on a new visa, after the holiday, with all this in place. If this man's intentions are more than just a fling, and I hope they are, He must marry you. I say must because in Italy as a foreigner without EU rights, you cannot stay. Without a husband, if you were able to get a get a job without a permesso, which is unlikely and illegal, it will be too menial to pay the rent. If found overstaying your holiday visa, you will be deported, never to return. Whatever you have read, this is a very catholic country, marriage is everything. Has this man been married before? Have you checked if he is still married? You won't be the first foreign women who has arrived in Italy with stars in her eyes, and then after the fling, to find out he has already walked down the isle with his lifetime moglie (wife). Separation is not akin to divorce in Italy. It takes 5 -7 years to get properly divorced and is crazy expensive. So very few men chose to go that route. So beware. My suggestion is this, Suggest to him that you visit for a holiday, to check things out, then set the wheels in motion in your own country for a marriage there, before you give up your job and life. If you are still convinced after the holiday, your local consulate will apply to Italy for a nulla osta for him- which means a certificate, stating he is free to marry. When, and if, you have that, he can come out to you for a holiday, meet your family, and then if you are still "in love" with this man, you can marry there. I strongly advise you not to consider being his live-in-lover in Italy, you will have uphill struggle in every way. Something you probably don't need as you enter your fifties. It's so much easier for him in Italy. He has nationality, his family, he can get a job, pension, medical care, everything, without a struggle. You in Italy, as a non-wife, will have an impossible time, and what's worse he will not understand this because its not like this for him. The language problem is a challenge, but the cultural one far greater. You can't find a job without fluent Italian. The English teaching jobs that there are, are snapped up by the EU foreigners with a permesso who followed a partner. Whatever your profession is, you probably can't practice it here because of language and registration. Even those who were lawyers, doctors, and dentists in the home countries, do odd jobs trying to translate a document here and there. Don't believe the romantic stories of women who come here to Tuscany to buy a villa and live in bliss with an Italian stud. They are rich and keep ties with America. For every one of these, there's a hundred who return home broke and bitter. Do you need to work to survive ? If the answer is yes and you decide to spend your life with him, then you must marry this man before you come, and can therefore enter Italy as a wife of an Italian citizen, a very different story. If you are not sure about this man who says" if visa trouble we marry". You could be putting your life into real difficulty. This man obviously hasn't done much research into what must be done for you to come. So I have my doubts.  Read  the excellent Europe site here PS. Think hard, read this, and other "real life" Italy sites with all the links that you need, not just the Under the Tuscan Sun and the "eat pray love" approach to Rome. Do you agree with my advice would you like to add something or disagree? Here's the place to do it, send a comment below .

The book is out - Living the dream in Italy

 here the book its back in print and on Amazon  Buy the PAPERBACK copy here, Kindle version also available 

ItalyExpatLivingAndWorking: Living and working in Italy after Brexit, what you...

ItalyExpatLivingAndWorking: Living and working in Italy after Brexit, what you...: One of the things that my family and friends visiting in Italy often ask me is what will it be like living in Italy after Brexit , ...

The Long Road home - Living the dream in Italy. The book is out! pre-order here.

Summer holiday on the island of Ischia italy

Evenings that now last until 10pm. Bliss! The good life al' Italia. We can now sit up on the lake shore on those long evenings and watch the pinky sky as evening closes in.
Its time to start thinking of that Italian obsession - getting away to the sea. As soon as spring releases us from winter, that is the talk of every meeting, every gathering. Where to go?
I call to mind our recent summer holiday on the island of Ischia close to Capri.
The metro jolts to a stop, you both peer out and see the sign, and so climb down into the intense light and humid air of the platform. You go down the stone stairs and walk down to the port, through a town grown shabby at the edges, but charming all the same. You sit on some stone steps while you await the next boat, the waves climb the stairs and lick at your toes, washing way any trace of Milano. Amante sits behind you stroking your hair, as you point out the islands on the pale blue morning sea “Can you also see Sorrento and Capri from here, is that it?” 
You get onto your big boat when it arrives with all the others escaping the mainland for the day or weekend. The ferry noses its way out of the bay and heads for deeper waters, spray leaping up the sides of the boat and blowing in the wind, as the cliffs of the mainland are left behind.
You settle near the rails on the boat, the wind playing in your hair, in front of you there’s a large group of Italians and in the middle of them there is a guitar player. They sing traditional songs probably learnt in childhood. Amante knows some of the words and sings softly along with them, you watch the cliffs which are full of caves.
The island is before you. You disembark in a small colourful port set in gentle basin with boats that look like toys floating on it. The flat Mediterranean sea, no crashing waves, the whole scene is suffused with that smell of sea and sun. The breeze carries something of Africa, that hot dry earth smell. While all around exotic plants, palms and lush foliage grow. It’s a mix of all the exotic locations, part Greece, part bleak Cyprus, lush Africa, the lemon trees of Sicily, a ridge of mountain hidden behind wispy clouds with white houses built on the lower slopes like Cape Town. It seems like another country although it’s in Italy, and it is, it’s Ischia! Nature doesn’t respect borders.
You take a long walk, to your agriturismo, thankful you packed light. Climbing endlessly up a winding road through vineyards and lemon groves, with a sea of three shades, indigo, azure and turquoise surrounding you. After an hour, the road seems to wind on forever with the sun beating down on your head, and so you climb on a bus heading in that direction since they all circle the island. When the driver tells you to get out, you clamber off, and immediately there’s the traffic and noise, cars and motorbikes racing around the ring-road again. You leave the main road and start walking up a track that heads up the mountain. Apparently the agriturismo is one and a half kilometres further up, the path is walled in on one side by a pumice stone wall, and then you stumble upon a farm-like sort of gate. You go through it, and walk like trespassers through a vineyard and an orchard of very low lemon trees which give a lovely lattice of shade from the sun. You still haven’t seen a sign and aren’t really sure if you are on the right track. The track then goes around some very gnarled olive trees. Suddenly there are some buildings ahead and a fierce dog rushes out at you, it’s a pastore abruzzese, a huge white breed you know well from Tuscan farms. A breed of dog dedicated to protection, so you both stand like chess pieces waiting for him to make the first move, trying not to flinch too obviously when he rushes at you. Amante makes calming, friendly noises but it doesn’t soften him up. After ten minutes of his ferocious barking, a cleaner comes out with her broom and mops and chases him off. Slightly shaken, you ask if there is anyone home because you need a cold beer, and she points upstairs to the terrace.
Upstairs is a large sun-washed patio with four tables set for lunch, looking out over sea and mountain, it’s glorious. You set down your bag and a couple come out to greet you and give you an icy beer, and then a hand-written menu which says they serve a cold plate of salumi or bruschetta. You order both, and then stretch out your post-winter legs in the spring sunshine, and there isn’t a thing to worry about, so you drink in the fresh air and views. The dog has done his job and now lies snoring in the sun.
On either side of you, two German couples arrive to do the same, you listen to the strange words and understand only that the beer meets their approval. The hosts have already told you that Germans make up the majority of visitors at this time of the year, they are certainly quieter than Italians as they too set about soaking up the sun.
Your lunch arrives, and like all real Italian specialities, the secret of a good bruschetta lies in the quality of the ingredients. Large slices of toasted home-baked bread, perfect sweet plum tomatoes, new virgin olive oil, garlic and some fresh oregano, perfection.
It’s time to take a walk to the sea, where people say hot thermal springs bubble up on the beach in the rock pools, producing a natural spa. On the other side of the island this has been made more commercial, but here apparently the bollente, or boiling water, is open to all.
When you finally get down the millions of stairs with aching knees, you arrive at a rather empty pebble beach. There’s a small wooden restaurant perched above halfway up the cliff, with a deck. You de-robe and climb into the shallows which contain rock pools, natural Jacuzzis if you like, where the water comes boiling and bubbling up from the sea bed. You are enveloped by the slightly sulphurous smell, and are joined by assorted northern Europeans of advanced years, bathing their arthritic limbs, and oohing and aahing as a jet of unexpectedly boiling water scalds their ample behinds. Not an Italian to be seen, other than Amante that is, who now, rather uncharacteristically for an Italian, sets out on an epic swim right out into the sea in frigid water. It’s still early spring after all. 
When he returns and jumps back into the steaming pool, the Germans and Dutch are impressed and they tell him so. You are impressed and you tell him so, while the assorted women admiringly take in his muscled body. “Strong man, like a beer” (sic) they say. He laughs, you have never seen him as a bear, he is not chubby enough, perhaps it’s because he’s quite hairy. 
Eventually you have enough of the hot puddle and you go exploring. Riding on Amante’s back into the icy sea, you go to investigate a cave the sea has carved into the rock. As he pulls you along, you tell him that he really must look like a polar bear right now with its cub on its back.
The cave is smooth soft rock, and the size of the average bathroom. You are alone in it, all over the floor of the cave are tiny holes through which a hot jet erupts when you least expect it. You lay around entwined in each other’s arms. It’s like a scene from one of those black and white films from the sixties, a ‘Roman Holiday’ kind of film. The tension from travelling is stripped away, and you seem to float along carried by steam rather than water. You start to talk about living in this cave. This could be your permanent bathroom, your own sauna. You love bathing and Amante watches with pleasure as you revel in it, he knows how many hours you spend soaking in a bath. “Bello.” he says with a sigh. “Over there should be our kitchen with boiling water, then catch some fish and eat very well, and when you are tired of fishing, you go climbing up the hill for some buona bruschetta e birra”. “Do you agree?” he asks. You agree. Your limbs feel as if they are pieces of string, not the heavy tired legs you brought down those thousand steps with you. In a small pool in your cave home, a tiny crab and a shrimp have set up home, the odd couple. The water is cool in their pool, there is no steam vent in there to cook them. At the front of the cave where you sit side by side dipping your toes into the sea, you have a lovely view out of the cave right across the bay. “Even winter would be a breeze here with built in heating,” I say.

A tourist again in Como

I am enormously indebted to my Italian family and friends for releasing the real Italy to me to examine, dissect, accept and finally call my own. I feel immensely privileged to have gone backstage in Italian life. I make no apologies for the romanticism of some posts, and acerbic observations in others, for as Henry James said; “Italy is mostly an emotion”, and this blog has both kinds.
I recently started being a tourist in my own town again and the province of Como is not a bad place to do that in , blessed as it is with such beauty and wonderful little villages that dot the shore line on a 70km glacial lake that's blue and clean to swim in. Well, I swim in it, some are too scared of lake monster.
Recently we had a romantic weekend up near Tremezzo where at the Tremezzo grand hotel life seems to have stopped in the 19th century and they serve G and Ts, Testarossas and other wonderful cocktails and food on a terrace that overlooks the entire ampitheatre of mountains and lake. It's five star bliss in the proper imperial way. Nearby is Villa Carlotta, and villa Balbianello at Lenno where James Bond and other movies have been made. We shared the hotel with all the guests and sponsors coming to the F1 grand prix at Monza.

Living Italy the good the bad and the plain old ugly

It seems every now and then those of us who have chosen to live and work in Italy, come up against another fledgling who has fallen out of their tree.
Italy can do this to you, sometimes on a daily basis. I purposefully exclude those who were able to come to Italy, buy a villa in Tuscany, tinker with growing vines and olives and then flit back home every now and then to keep a foot in the door in the old country. I am bold enough to say "If you don't work for someone else in Italy and ride trains you don't really know Italy".
For you its paradise, villa owners, no one will chase you for tax payments in Italy or expect you to wait in line at a state hospital to see a specialist, so you can spend a little of the the 42% tax you pay to the government. You will never know what it feels like to wonder if you can fill your own teeth, with that metal resin stuff that bonds in seconds, because you can't afford to go to the dentist( believe me I've considered this).
So what about those of us who work at those lowly paid jobs in Italy, us graduates who somehow found ourselves hawking our madre linqua as our means of income, what of us, what is Italy like for us?
A love-hate relationship, an addiction?
My last post was about being a tourist again for a day. Try it, it may work for you.
But generally, as your stumble back home from the sweaty train where you couldn't get a seat and switch on the news while you cook the pasta, only to hear the same old, same old Belusconi or calcio, ( the content of 99,9999% of T.V.), droning on, you wonder what the .... am I doing here.

I can give you a list of the good now.
Gelato (nothing like it)
Being pregnant (everyone will treat you like the virgin Mary).
I'm too scared to ride on a train after a big lunch for fear of a man insisting I take his seat because I'm pregnant. I wanted to shout "I'm not bloody pregnant Ok!". but I took the seat in silence, all grateful and coy.
Being chased by Italian men (whatever your age)
Italian mamas. they iron his shirts so well, you'll never be able to compete, so why try?
Homemade tiramisu and pannacotta!
Almost all the food you'll find in any small hilltown in Liguria, Tuscany, Umbria, or where-ever. the slow food movement is alive and well!
The art, free art! that's why I came and that's why I stay.